


i see you looking at me and you already know

by kanonberiz



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: College AU, F/M, and suddenly theyre grinding, theyre dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 20:35:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20712146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanonberiz/pseuds/kanonberiz
Summary: in which claude rises to the occasion.





	i see you looking at me and you already know

**Author's Note:**

> claude and hilda get to know each other during an acquaintance party in college. :)

Claude exhales, a sharp sound uncaught amongst the blaring music and earthquake-like beats that shook the house. Being caught between bodies, packed tight like sardines and gyrating in sweaty skin, shouldn't be such a problem… Except this girl, who introduced herself as Hilda, is doing explicit wonders by his hips right now with her ass, and it's getting harder and harder to keep his composure.

It takes a lot to ignore the pleasant friction rubbing against the front of his pants, and Claude racked his brains for the least stimulating thing he could think of: like flipping through books in the comfort of his bedroom, reading about the economy, studying stocks, looking up bitcoin on his pc, _ the sweet, pleasant smell of strawberries-- _

Hilda hears him breathe shakily when she arches her back into him, punctuates it with a heavy roll of her ass into his groin, and grabs the back of his head with a hand so that he's forced to press his face against her neck. Her other hand snakes into his, grabs it and has it crawl against the curve of her hip, and, intoxicated by the music, she sways and forces him to sway with her. She catches another shaky breath, almost a low groan, and it's then that she feels it, warm and growing and pushing against her and in between her ass cheeks.

_ Someone _ just had to come and bump into Claude at that moment, forceful and sudden, and Hilda cries out in time with a whistle note from Ariana Grande as his tent rubs against the insides of her thighs, pressing right against her.

"_ Shit _," Claude mumbles hoarsely into her neck, and he would be so embarrassed if she didn't feel just as warm as he does. The way she cried out, a cheer of fun and exhilaration to others that they chimed in with their own version of whistle tones, was obviously something else far needier in his ears, and when she turns her head to look at him, he doesn't miss the telling glint in her eyes, nor the sneaky way she licks her lips as if she's ready to devour him.

He's barely swallowed the lump in his throat when she resumes moving against him, and he's clenching his teeth so fucking hard because he can feel every inch of her covered lips rubbing against his pants. Every swing of her hips he tries to meet as discreetly as possible, despite the warm wetness he's starting to feel seep through the fabrics. He's sweating and breathing through his nose and Hilda is laughing, breathy and low and almost like groans as she tilts her head back into his shoulder and clutches a whole clump of his hair, pulling tight and firm that it has him grabbing her roughly by her waist and rolling into her a little harder than what you would call dancing.

Hilda jolts, skin prickling and hair rising as she bites her lip to stifle an obviously non-party sound that could distract any dancing party-goer within a step of them. Vaguely aware of how her mini-skirt has been rising, she pulls them down with a tiny giggle, turns around to drag a finger across the features of Claude's face, fingertip sliding against the bridge of his nose and across parted lips.

He has this urgency to him when he catches her finger in his mouth, latches on to it with this hungry look in his eyes as he lightly nibbles and flicks a tongue by the pad of her fingertip, swiping it across her manicured nails. Glossy, pink, simple.. And just so sweet that Claude already forgets about Marxism and just focuses on wanting to taste every bit of her.

Hilda sees it, too, and she leans in to meet his lips, her finger still in between them. It doesn't stop her from rubbing her lips against his, sighing contentedly, and then darting her own tongue across the opening of his mouth, poking slyly at his teeth. Before Claude could ever do anything, she's already moved on-- he feels himself being pushed back into the crowd, into somewhere, her finger still trailing down his chin, against the length of his neck, rubbing circles by his collar bones and teasingly grazing his clothed chest-- _ god, he wishes he could just take it off already, he's fucking suffocating-- _ and surprisingly, with just that one finger, he's pushed into a dark corner of the house where nobody seems to be paying attention to, against a wall and with his breath hitching in his throat because her one little finger is feathery and light as it travels across his stomach and by his navel, past his belt and the constricting pants and against the shape of him under the now tight jeans. Hilda takes her time to trace his dick, teasing and slow and pressing firmer as she moves back and forth while he clenches his fists on his sides and watches his cock, clothed and begging to be let out. And then she laughs, evidently with purpose.

"Claude, wasn't it?" she coos, inching closer so that only he could her. Not that it mattered, because even in this secluded area he could hear more party music blasting from within the main room. 

"That's my name," he breathes out, and with a little smirk of controlled confidence, adds, "Ready to scream it out to the crowd?"


End file.
